


for my heart, chain mail

by mywordsflyup



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Last Resort of Good Men, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 19:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5103401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian doesn’t cry. It’s a thing and Adaar has noticed. </p><p>For the tumblr prompt "things you said when you were crying".</p>
            </blockquote>





	for my heart, chain mail

Dorian doesn’t cry. It’s a thing and Adaar has noticed.

He doesn’t cry even when in excruciating pain - something from which Adaar would shield him if he could. It comes with the times, however. War and all that. And try as he might, Adaar cannot stop all the arrows and spells and knives that fly Dorian’s way. Sometimes he can only be there afterwards, when the blood has been spilled and there is healing to be done.

And he does heal him. Large hands hovering just inches from his skin, easing the pain and stitching back together what has been torn and broken. Adaar watches his face then but the tears never come.

Dorian has scars now, more and different from the ones he carried with him to the South. Adaar could tell a story about every single one. Remembers every wound that Dorian suffered while he was fighting for him. Dorian tuts him for his tears while his own eyes stay dry. That’s how it has always been.

Dorian doesn’t cry.

Not when he tells Adaar what his father did. Not when Halward tells him to come home. Not on the long silent ride back to Skyhold.

Adaar thinks this pain must be worse that an arrow to the shoulder or a broken arm. Dorian clenches his jaw and doesn’t speak. They are beyond deflection now.

He finds him in the library long after midnight, curled up in his chair. Dorian always looks small to him but never like this. There is no book in his hand, no smile on his lips. Just a half-empty bottle tucked between his thigh and the armrest, and two more empty ones neatly lined up next to the chair. He didn’t light the candles. There is no need for light now.

“I hoped we could avoid this,” Dorian says and his voice sounds strange, small and choked and so unlike him that Adaar freezes mid-step.

“I didn't…” He stops and his hand reaches for the bookshelf, as if to steady himself. He can't see Dorian’s face like this, turned towards the window and hidden in the shadows. “Do you want me to leave?”

He would. One word, one nod. That’s all it takes. He would turn around and find his way back to his quarters and lie in bed and not sleep. _It’s not my place_ , he thinks. Perhaps none of this has been his place.

“No,” Dorian says, still in the voice that is not his. One word. It’s enough.

Adaar moves slowly, goes down on his knees next to the chair. He is not small, not even when he tries. But he will not loom in the dark like the monster people expect him to be. He wants to take Dorian’s hand, pry his fingers from the bottle. It’s not his place. He curls his fingers around the armrest instead.

“I didn’t know what I wanted him to say until he didn’t say it,” Dorian says and takes a shaky breath. “It doesn’t matter now.” He lifts the bottle and drinks.

Adaar’s fingers twitch and his stomach churns at the sight. He hates it. He hates how much he hates it. Not his place.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you to leave so early,” he says because the thought has gnawed at him for days. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have…”

“Don’t.” Dorian turns to him then, his face dark even in the low light of the torches. His cheeks are wet, his mouth a hard thin line. “You blame yourself for this?”

Adaar averts his gaze, suddenly feeling like he has intruded once again. He has never seen him cry. Dorian doesn’t cry.

A hand, small but steady, covers his and when he looks up there is something almost like a smile on Dorian’s face. Not the real one, not the one Adaar might love. But something like it.

“This was broken long before you told me to let go.” A tear rolls down his cheek and his wipes it away with his free hand, quickly as if it was never there.

“He does not deserve you,” Adaar says. Because it is true and it needs to be said.

“And yet, he has me.” The tears come freely now but quietly and Adaar wants to reach up and wipe them away.

“He doesn’t. Not anymore.”

“Mhm, perhaps.” Dorian looks at him for a moment, his eyes large and still. Then he laughs, a sound almost like a hiccup. “Look at us. Wallowing in the dark. What would Mother Giselle say? I’d wager she’d find something scandalous even in this.” His smile falls flat but he pats Adaar’s hand once before pulling away and reaching for the bottle once more.

Adaar does not mean to make his worry so obvious but his face falls and he knows it. Dorian’s hand stills, hovering above the bottle. He sighs and shakes his head.

“The Inquisitor’s disapproval is a heavy thing indeed,” Dorian says and folds his hands in his lap. It’s meant to be a quip but the tears welling up in his eyes once more betray him.

“It’s not disapproval, Dorian.”

Dorian looks at him, long and hard, as if there is more to see than just his face. “I suppose not,” he says but it sounds like defeat.

Adaar is cracked, all the way down the middle and pouring out. All of him filling up the space between them. All of him flowing towards this man in his chair and his tears and his sorrow. He can hardly breathe. He can hardly bear it.

“Will you walk with me then?” Dorian’s voice is almost too quiet to make out the words. “Just for a while. I cannot stand the darkness any longer.”

“Of course.” Adaar gets up, his legs just a little stiff from kneeling on the stone tiles. He hesitates, then conjures a small mage light above their heads. A tiny bobbing thing to illuminate their faces and light the way. It’s good enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from alt-j's "Hunger Of The Pine".
> 
> You can also follow my [tumblr](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com) if you're interested.


End file.
